


This Is Not A Drill

by AlyKat



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Based on a Tumblr Post, Get Together, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tumblr Prompt, Wade Wilson is a good bro, middle of the night fire drills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:40:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3217817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/pseuds/AlyKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Standing outside his dorm in the middle of the night, dressed only in a coat, his sneakers, and a pair of boxers, Phil Coulson clutched his laptop to his chest and people-watched during the assumed fire drill. Which maybe wasn't as much of a drill as he thought. And had he known he was going to meet the man of his dreams that night, well, he maybe wouldn't have worn his Captain America boxers to bed that night.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Based on this Tumblr prompt, originally posted by iggycat: "Someone needs to write a ‘the fire alarm went off at 3 am and now the cute guy from the flat next door is standing next to me in his underwear’ AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is Not A Drill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wintermute](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintermute/gifts).



> I really should have posted this as a "Read More" when I posted it to Tumblr. =/ Also probably should have written this when I should have been sleeping. I've been exhausted since six this evening. Sleep should have happened, not this. 
> 
> This is for wintermute, who tag begged someone to write a college Clint/Coulson during final exams au fic. I accepted the challenge. It's close enough to both original prompt and wintermute's request. I'm callin' it good enough. 
> 
> Not beta'd, any mistakes are mine and mine alone. Please don't send me hate mail for anything?

Phil had just closed his eyes, his head had just hit the pillow (okay, so, maybe both those things had happened an hour before, but it felt like it had just happened!) when the scream of the fire alarm just outside his dorm room door screeched to life and the white safety light began to flash. Why was it always when Phil was trying to sleep that the alarm would go off? And why did it seem to happen more often during finals week than any time else? Was it some cruel sick joke to deprive people of sleep the night before exams? A way to relieve stress before they cracked? Had someone actually cracked and decided, in a state of pure delirium, to pull the little red handle on the little red box that read “IN CASE OF FIRE”?

Already, the sounds of doors slamming and co-eds yelling and bitching about the time and how they were trying to study and how they had a test in five hours, filled the hall outside Phil’s room and had him groaning in frustration. He laid in his bed for a moment longer, staring up at the ceiling, and silently wondered if anyone would actually notice if he just stayed in bed. Did someone really go through and check out room for room to make sure everyone was out? It was a seven story dorm building, after all. Maybe he could just stay where he was and not be in trouble for it later. Of course, the alarm was kind of hard to block out, and then there was the voice in the back of his head (that sounded suspiciously like his mother…) that kept going, “What if this isn’t a drill? What if someone on a lower floor actually lit a fire? What if someone on an UPPER floor lit a fire?”

Ultimately, the strange paranoia over the whole thing had Phil finally rolling out of bed, slipping on his sneakers and grabbing his coat off the back of his chair, his laptop off the desk (hey, he had a twenty page final research paper saved on that thing that still had five pages, and a bibliography to go. You think he was going to risk losing it if it happened there really was a fire?) and trekked down the four flights of stairs along with everyone else.

The early December night air wasn’t really bitter cold, but it definitely wasn’t comfortably warm, either. It wasn’t the type of weather you really wanted to be standing out in the middle of the courtyard in your pajamas. Or in some cases, even less. Honestly, Phil felt bad for the women who usually decided the middle of the night was the perfect time to go take a shower. There were at least three he saw milling about, their hair hanging wet down past their bare shoulders and towels wrapped protectively around themselves. In the case of one girl, she was beet red and on the verge of tears as she hid in the middle of close-knit cluster, whimpering about how towels should all be large enough to wrap completely around ones body, including the female body, and not leave gaps.

"Jemma Simmons," A voice suddenly said from beside him. "Freshman. I can introduce you, if you want."

Phil whipped his head around fast enough it popped in a couple places and glanced up slightly. When the hell had someone stepped up alongside him?! “Uh, no. Thanks. I know her, already. Thanks.”

The guy shrugged his bare shoulders and turned his attention back to the dorm building and watched as smoke drifted lazily out of a third floor window. (For a brief moment, Phil heard the voice in the back of his head tsk him and say, “See? Real fire! You could have died.” … _yes, mother_ …)

Phil took that as a chance to finally look the stranger over. He was average in height, maybe an inch or two taller than Phil (and oooooooh didn’t that just start sending the blood rushing south? Phil might have just a little thing for guys taller than him. Maybe just a little. Okay, a lot!) and his dark blond hair was matted down on one side from sleep, and standing up in all directions on the other. He wasn’t traditionally handsome, but Phil still found himself trailing his eyes down the guy’s jawline anyway, down his neck that was all masculine and was clearly made to be licked and nibbled on, across strong, bare shoulders and arms and chest, all the way down his toned stomach. Right down to where the muscles at his hips started to dip down to form a V, leading his eyes right to the band of a very nice pair of deep purple boxer-briefs. That really left very little to the imagination.

Phil’s mouth may have gone simultaneously dry and wet. And he maybe might have been staring. Maybe.

"That’s Wilson’s room," Hottie-with-the-Body, as Phil’s brain apparently decided to name him, said, startling Phil from his thoughts for a second time.

"Wilson? Sam Wilson?" He asked in confusion, looking around. He could have sworn Sam was in Jones dormitory with Steve, Bucky, and Natasha.

Hottie-with-the-Body laughed softly and shook his head. “Not even close. Wade Wilson. Ya know him. Batshit insane but would literally break his back to help those he considers a friend?”

Phil thought for a moment, frowned, and said, “I don’t know him.”

"You would if you saw him."

The firemen from the local station down the street had already sent a group of guys up to check the fire out and turn off the alarms. Somewhere closer to the dorm, there were paramedics on hand giving out emergency thermal blankets to those who needed them.

Phil’s eyes glanced back to Hottie-with-the-Body and frowned. The guy wasn’t even wearing any shoes! Just the boxer-briefs. Which definitely hadn’t gotten any looser. In fact, they seemed maybe just a smidge bit tighter. How the hell was _that_ possible?!

"Aren’t you _cold_?” Apparently, sounding like he thought the guy was insane or stupid was what Phil’s brain decided was a good thing to do.

Hottie-with-the-Body glanced back to him, and Phil found himself getting lost in a pair of eyes that weren’t blue, weren’t green, and weren’t amber, but a mixture of all three. Eyes that were definitely filled with mischief and darkened just slightly after Phil stared into them for a second longer than he should have.

"A little," Hottie answered with a shrug, "Then again, I could ask the same of you."

Phil scoffed. “I’m at least wearing a jacket.”

"True. But your Captain America boxers," those eyes glanced down and Phil was suddenly very much aware of the fact he was in his boxers, and yeah, they were doing nothing to hide the fact his traitorous dick — despite the cold — was half-hard from staring at Hottie.

He shifted awkwardly and like a loser, moved his laptop to both hands in order to hold it over his crotch. His dignity was barely hanging on by a thin, thin thread.

Hottie full out laughed and moved to wrap his arms around himself at last. His smile lit up his face and made his mosaic eyes twinkle and squint slightly, his nose scrunching up in the most adorable way.

"Tell ya what, Coulson. I’ll go get a blanket and we can share it until we head back inside, sound good?"

Time seemed to stop for what felt like eternity. Hottie knew Phil’s name. Or, his last name, at least. How in the _hell_ did Hottie know Phil’s last name?! It was embarrassing the way his brain seemed to seize up, completely fry, and then need a minute to reboot.

Hottie must have taken his stunned silence as a yes, since he smirked and started sauntering off to where the paramedic was still standing with the blankets. Phil sure as hell didn’t glance down at that ass. (Yes he did, and yes, it was a very nice ass!)

When Phil’s brain finally snapped back to life, he felt half his blood race south, and the rest go rushing to his face as he blushed. Swallowing thickly, he took a step to follow.

"Hey! Hold up! I…I don’t even know you, o-or your name," it was embarrassing and awkward to admit and Phil really hoped none of his friends were around to be able to blackmail him with this later.

Hottie spun on his toes and walked backwards a few steps as he kept his eyes trained on Phil. “I’m a friend of Maria Hill’s,” Hottie called back, “Clint Barton.”

Phil’s jaw dropped, and so did his laptop. Right onto his sneakers. (A frantic afterthought check would prove the only thing wrong with it after its tumble was a crack in the casing by the screen and the DVD drive needing to be replaced. That check would be happening later though. Much later.) Clint Barton?! Maria had been trying to set Phil up with her “friend Clint” for most of the semester but something had always happened and they never had the chance to even so much as meet.

Clint laughed again and disappeared into the crowd for a moment, only to reappear wrapped securely in the shiny, silver blanket. He opened it up to wrap it around Phil as well, pulling him in close so they shared body heat and Phil could feel every inch (Every. Inch.) of Clint pressed up against him. By the way Clint was smirking down at him, Phil knew he wasn’t hiding anything, either.

With a gulp, he tilted his chin up just enough so they were nose to nose and met Clint’s gaze again.

"You’re…?"

"Maria’s friend Clint. Yeah."

"…hi…?"

Clint chuckled and his smirk fell soft and fond.

"Hi, Phil," Clint murmured back, his breath warm and soft against Phil’s lips. "It’s nice to finally meet you."

_Like wise,_ Phil should have said. _I’m really glad we finally got to meet._ He should have said. _This wasn’t exactly how I’d hoped our first meeting would go._ He should have said.

What did he say, instead?

"…Wait. You don’t live in my building."

Clint’s head dropped back and his full laugh filled the air as he pulled Phil closer still. Grinning from ear to ear, he shook his head when he finally got himself back together. The blanket rustled and shifted as Clint pointed to the dorm directly behind them.

"Nah. I’m fourth floor over here in Dugan Hall."

"What the hell are you doing out here, then?" Phil’s eyes were wide and full of disbelief as he stared up at Clint, who shrugged innocently and glanced back over his shoulder to Carter Hall and where Wade Wilson was stumbling out the front door in the over dramatic way only Wade Wilson could.

"Only a few more days of the semester left. Wanted to finally meet you. So…I…may have called in a few favors to make sure I could."

Phil’s jaw dropped for a second time. “You paid someone to start a fire in my dorm?”

Clint faked innocence with the best of them as he tossed a hand across his chest. “Never! No money was exchanged. He owed me a favor. I just didn’t figure he’d do it in the middle of the fucking night,” Clint paused for a moment before, “And I never asked him to start a fire. I asked him to just pull the alarm when he was sure you were in the building. I don’t know why he thought this was the better idea.”

Stammer, and then just going silent when he found no words would properly come out, Phil just stood there, staring up at Clint like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His words finally did return, only to disappear again when Clint pulled back to bend down and pick Phil’s forgotten laptop up off the ground (Clint had been standing over it, with it safely tucked between his feet so no one stepped on it), and Phil could watch just how close Clint got to him and briefly imagine him being down there for an entirely different reason. (A different voice in the back of his head — this one sounding distinctly more like his friend Nick than his mother, thank God! — snarked off a quick, “While you’re down there…" Which Phil only just barely managed to not actually say out loud.)

"Here," Clint said, standing up straight again and handing Phil his laptop back. "Let’s go up to my room and get to know each other, huh? I’ll brew up some fresh coffee."

It was a tempting offer, very, very tempting. But, Phil knew he shouldn’t. Not because he had any finals in the morning, but he did in the afternoon, and he’d need to sleep and do more studying, and really what were the chances of either thing happening if he went upstairs with Clint? Slim. So slim. Beyond slim.

He took a breath, the decline right there on his lips and ready to go. He opened his mouth and said, “Doubt I’ll be able to sleep now, anyway.”

Clint grinned for a second before it morphed into a smirk and he pulled Phil flush to his front again. Phil shivered at all that hot skin pressing against him in contrast to the painfully cold metal lid of his laptop. Losing himself in Clint’s eyes, Phil’s knees went weak. Yeah. There’d definitely be no sleeping going on anytime soon.

~*~*~

Phil went to his exam wearing Clint’s clothes, having had only two hours of sleep, and looking well and thoroughly fucked. He finished his test dead last and only fell asleep during it once.

…it was worth it.

^*^*^*^*^*^BONUS SCENE^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Clint stepped out of Phil’s room later the next night, just in time to bump into Wade Wilson. He stumbled back, ready to apologize until he saw who it was.

"Wade, why’d you set fire to your trashcan last night, man?" Asked Clint, giving Wade’s shoulder a shove.

Wade stared at him blankly in the most unnerving way, and Clint found himself shifting his weight to his other foot and sighing.

"I just asked you to pull the fire alarm, dude. That’s all I asked you to do."

"But, Clinton," replied Wade, "That would have been lying. A false alarm. I couldn’t do that to the brave men and women who risk their lives to protect us from fires."

Clint stared at Wade for a long, silent moment, clearly trying to decide what to make of Wilson’s logic. As usual, it was…strangely on point. In a weird way. Shrugging, and making a “meh” sort of expression, Clint slapped Wade’s shoulder again and turned to head back into Phil’s room, forgetting why he was leaving it in the first place.

"Got me there. Alright, well, thanks, man. Ya did good. I’ll slip you a few extra chimichangas next time you come into the shop.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, Clint grinned at the sound of Wade’s triumphant cry of happiness and pledge to name his first born after him (“Even if it’s a girl!”).

^*^*^*^*^*^ALTERNATE BONUS SCENE ENDING^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Clint stepped out of Phil’s room later the next night, just in time to bump into Wade Wilson. He stumbled back, ready to apologize until he saw who it was.

"Wade, why’d you set fire to your trashcan last night, man?" Asked Clint, giving Wade’s shoulder a shove.

Wade stared at him blankly in the most unnerving way, and Clint found himself shifting his weight to his other foot and sighing.

"I just asked you to pull the fire alarm, dude. That’s all I asked you to do."

Wade’s eyes went comically wide as he gasped dramatically. “I WAS SUPPOSED TO DO THAT LAST NIGHT?!” He exclaimed, grabbing Clint by the shoulders and squeezing a bit harder than necessary. “Clinton! I am so sorry! Let me make it up to you!”

"What? No, Wade, I—"

"You’re mad! I know! I’m sorry! I’ll fix this!"

"I’m not—"

"I got this! I’ll go do it right now!"

"What?! WADE!" Clint stared in horror as Wade went running down the hall and stopped just in front of the fire alarm.

His hand on the pull handle, Wade stood tall and proud. “Don’t worry Clint! I won’t fail you again! You’ll get laid yet! I swear it!”

Above Clint’s head, the alarm screeched to life, filling the hallway with the piercing squeal. White emergency lights flashed and on both sides of him doors flew open to reveal thoroughly pissed off students. To his right, Phil’s door opened and an arm reached out to grab him by the sleeve of his hoodie. He was yanked back into the room, the door slammed shut behind him, before the angry mob could kill him for being the cause of the second alarm in the second night in a row.

They’d wait for the mob to clear before sneaking down the back escape stairs and disappearing to Clint’s room for the rest of the night.


End file.
